


As Good Luck Would Have It

by edgy_fluffball



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Balcony Scene, Carrying, Dinner Date, Enjolras Has Feelings, Enjolras has a sweet tooth, Fairy Lights, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Grantaire Has Feelings, M/M, Matchmaking, One Shot Giveaway, Roommates, Talk About Food, Tipsy Enjolras, grantaire is a sweetheart, so is Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24115492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgy_fluffball/pseuds/edgy_fluffball
Summary: When betting on the possibility of two of your friends getting together, it is best advised not to leave it to chance. In the case of Jehan and Courfeyrac, that means orchestrating the best evening possible for the objects of their bet to secure their wager. After all, it's Enjolras and Grantaire.Or: Jehan and Courfeyrac run out of time to win a bet made amongst the members of Les Amis de l’ABC and do their best to change that.
Relationships: Bahorel/Jean Prouvaire, Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 112





	As Good Luck Would Have It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jadeslocke17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadeslocke17/gifts).



> I promised fluff and here we go! I wrote this in 24 hours... it was fun to write something short for once.

It was high time for something to happen, according to both Jehan and Courfeyrac. A very narrow time window was about to close for them and they were intent to use it to their advantage before their deserved win went to the last people they wanted it to go to.

Their partners.

Combeferre and Bahorel had composed a vexing message and posted it into the group chat. In retaliation, it had become their most urgent goal to see their own interests not only covered but also to have it play out in the most dramatic and phenomenal way. For Jehan and Courfeyrac, succeeding in their mission was a matter of pride and undoubtedly to be achieved.

They had borrowed the spare key from the hook it usually hang on in Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s flat and had made their way onto the premises that were usually unoccupied, as they were sure to know, having called away the residents themselves. It took them some time to find their way around the flat and they were somewhat relieved they had made sure to have planned ahead, busy enough as it was. Between lunch, afternoon classes and the way home, Jehan had calculated a rough schedule that gave them an insight into how long they had to prepare what they had come up with in meticulous groundwork.

Jehan had just about finished their work in the kitchen and set aside the last wet pot they had washed up, when Courfeyrac came rushing in, hands waving and motioning to the door. His eyes were wide and panicked, his cheeks red and his hair wild.

‘They are back,’ he hissed, ‘or at least one of them, why don’t they ever keep to scheduled times?’

‘What do you mean, they’re back?’ Jehan dried their hands on the towel hanging from the hook on the door, ‘they’re not supposed to be back for another thirty minutes, we planned that time to get away!’

‘Well,’ Courfeyrac combed his hands through his hair, ‘the door downstairs just opened and at this time of day, it’s not very likely to be anyone else! We need to get out.’

‘We won’t be able to,’ Jehan replied, a whine bubbling through their lips, ‘they’ll see us!’

Courfeyrac set his jaw and huffed out a breath, ‘Get into the bedroom, I’ll lock the door. They can’t know we’re still here!’

‘You have got to be kidding me, bloody hell,’ Jehan dropped a spoon into a drawer and darted out of the kitchen, ‘don’t go into Grantaire’s room though, it’s messy.’

Courfeyrac groaned and sprinted towards the front door in order to lock it before turning on his heel, following Jehan into the second bedroom and closing the door behind himself, just in time before the front door was opened again. He panted a little shaking his head and leaned against the closed door, trying to regain his breath as fast as possible.

‘Jehan,’ he whispered, ‘we have a problem.’

‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Jehan responded under their breath, ‘what are we going to do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Courfeyrac admitted, bending down to look through the keyhole, just as the front door opened.

***

Two years, five months and twenty-nine days before Jehan and Courfeyrac’s well-planned breaking and entering attempt, an announcement had been made amongst the core members of _Les Amis de l’ABC_ at the _Musain_ on a busy Wednesday evening. Courfeyrac and Combeferre, after a honeymoon period of six months of dates and a blossoming relationship, had announced their intent to move in together. With Combeferre moving out, however, a bedroom opened up for occupancy in the flat he had shared with Enjolras up until this point. They were looking for a new tenant and Enjolras had voiced his preference for somebody he knew to take up the offer. Courfeyrac had therefore called for a meeting and handed out descriptions of the flat that went beyond the facts that were already known to them about the layout and floor plan.

It had been a surprise to all of them when Grantaire, out of all people, jumped to the chance and used the opportunity to get out of an unpleasant tenant’s agreement and moved in mere weeks after the meeting had taken place. With Enjolras and Grantaire living in one flat, the remaining members of the society had soon discovered the fun and excitement that was brought about by their usual arguments and bickering stretched on more locations and events than just the meetings. It had taken them all of three weeks to come up with the bets.

There had been three separate ones within the first month with the first one, based on Marius’ insistence that Grantaire would move out again in under three months. The three months had passed and Marius had been the sole loser. Begrudgingly, he had paid up and invited everybody else to drinks.

The other two bets, brainchildren of Courfeyrac and Joly respectively, had both cumulated higher stakes and a longer running time. It had been a joke at first, asking whether two of them would be able to distinguish between their arguments at home and at meetings. There was a long-term experiment, a tally chart that was updated every time they began to bicker about things that were rooted in their home life.

Both Jehan and Courfeyrac, however, had immediately agreed that the third bet was the most important. Most of _Les Amis_ had joined in on the bet Courfeyrac had come up with during date night with Combeferre. The wording had been simple enough, there was no question of the probability of the effect they bet on. They had started a group chat to monitor and discuss the pointer towards the positive outcome and end of their bet. Courfeyrac kept a list on which everybody had written their estimate of when Enjolras and Grantaire would become an item.

Most of them had seen their estimated timeframes pass by already, with Jehan and Courfeyrac currently being the closest with two and a half years before the last duo would take the win, no matter when exactly Grantaire and Enjolras would get it together. They had no intention to give their win up to Combeferre and Bahorel who had posted a premature celebration into the group chat, alerting them to the clock ticking.

Something had to give.

***

Grantaire came home early, already looking forward to stretching out on the sofa with the pizza he and Enjolras ordered on a Friday evening, watching another one or two episodes of their current comfort show. Humming, he fumbled for the keys and turned them in the lock. As he opened the door to the flat, he could hear the front door open in a way he knew only one person to do it. He grinned, knowing that Enjolras was close behind him. The door swung open and he entered the flat.

‘Oh, fuck!’

He jumped back through the door and slammed it back shut. His heart raced, all of a sudden caught in his throat. The steps coming up the stairs were telling enough and Grantaire imagined he had about thirteen seconds before Enjolras would stand in front of him.

The thoughts in his head ranged from burglars to a fire to an invitation from Éponine. When Enjolras appeared over the edge of the stairs, bag over his shoulders and hair in a bun with a few strands framing his head, Grantaire had taken a carefully controlled stance in the door, leaning against the frame.

‘Enjolras,’ he called out, smiling at him, ‘home already?’

‘I could ask you the same question,’ Enjolras took a look at him, ‘what’s the matter?’

‘What? Nothing, just, just standing here, just got home,’ Grantaire put his hands on both sides of the door.

‘Grantaire,’ Enjolras cleared his throat, ‘you are trying to keep something away, what is it?’

‘Really, nothing to see.’

‘Grantaire, you are a terrible liar,’ Enjolras put his hand on his arm.

Grantaire fumbled for words, shifted from one leg to the other and ended up with Enjolras pushing past him. The door opened, Enjolras darted inside and took a step back a moment later.

‘Grantaire?’

‘Yes?’

‘There’s dinner on the table.’

‘Yes.’

‘And wine.’

‘Yes.’

‘And candles.’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you –‘

‘No!’

Grantaire pushed past him and dropped his bag next to the door. Enjolras followed him, looking around warily, as if expecting a ghost to pop out of the wall. He inspected the set table and lifted the lids of the serving plates his mother had given him when he moved in.

‘This is good, actually,’ he looked up at Grantaire, ‘that wasn’t you?’

‘Nope,’ Grantaire looked into a bowl, ‘I have no idea, the door was locked when I came home.’

Enjolras smelled the fresh bread in a small basket in the middle of the table, ‘I think I know who we have to thank, this is Courfeyrac’s rosemary bread.’

‘Blessed be his name,’ Grantaire had picked up one of the bottles of wine, ‘and this is not bad either. Do you want to look this gift horse in the mouth?’

‘Never,’ Enjolras grinned and picked up the wineglasses, ‘will you do the honours?’

‘I was born to do this,’ Grantaire uncorked the first bottle.

He winked at Enjolras who just rolled his eyes but watched him pour some wine into both glasses. He leaned over the table and lit the candles. The flames lightened up his hair and reflected in his eyes. Grantaire managed to pull his eyes off him and went into the kitchen to wash his hands.

‘Will you plate everything?’

Enjolras answered with an enthusiastic, ‘Yes, darling. Of course I will, darling.’

They sat down at the table. Grantaire took a sip of wine and closed his eyes, humming as it coated his tongue.

‘Amazing. Remind me to thank Courfeyrac at the next meeting.’

‘Oh, so you still want to come? Even if we plan the rally against the industrial magnates conference, that you so passionately described as ‘delusional hogwash’ and ‘flights of fancy without any grounding in the real world’? I think I can recall you threatening to stuff my shoes with jelly if I made you come.’

‘Yes, and now I have decided to come, all by myself, like a big boy.’

Enjolras grinned at him, ‘I’ll make a believer out of you.’

‘You don’t have to,’ Grantaire said softly, bent over his plate, ‘I believe in you already.’

Enjolras looked up from his stuffed vegetables for a moment and met his gaze, ‘R, don’t, don’t just say that.’

‘What? I mean it,’ Grantaire gave him a cautious smile, ‘we haven’t argued in weeks and it feels good. We’re good, at the moment.’

‘How do you know we haven’t argued?’

‘The board at the Musain. All our friends are in on a bet of whether we can keep our domestic arguments out of the meetings. Didn’t you know?’

‘No,’ Enjolras blinked at him, ‘are you serious, they bet on us?’

Grantaire shrugged and put another mouthful spiced rice into his mouth, ‘I’m positive it’s not the only bet they have put on us. There’s probably one on who caves in first and gets a screen for the living room.’

Enjolras made a noise between hum and agreement, seemed about to say something only to decide against it a moment later, and topped off their wineglasses again, ‘They are awful to us, aren’t they? No trust in us whatsoever.’

‘Don’t be so hard on them,’ Grantaire toasted him with his refreshed glass, ‘to be fair, we are hardly the picture of accord and understanding.’

‘What would they say if they could see us now,’ Enjolras laughed and took a deep gulp of wine, ‘they would be surprised.’

‘Well, there would be jokes, laughs and comments below the belt,’ he reached for the salad, only to be passed the bowl by Enjolras who jumped to hand it over, ‘thank you.’

‘They would tease the hell out of us, sitting here, eating with candlelight.’

‘And no one would be any wiser about your chicken Kiev and that lovely couscous you cook,’ Grantaire picked up his napkin, ‘you spoil me with your cooking and no one even knows.’

‘I needed a hobby after Combeferre moved out. Plus, you bake so I could provide something to go with your desserts,’ Enjolras blushed a little, rose shade dusting his cheeks, ‘I’m sure they have no idea about your rhubarb crumble and homemade ice cream. Do you remember the meringue you made for my birthday?’

‘Do I remember – are you kidding me, I spent hours getting that right,’ Grantaire huffed out an indignant little sound, ‘it was a nice birthday, though.’

‘Once we got the drinks at the Musain over and done with,’ Enjolras agreed, ‘I love them all dearly but knowing you had made something and it waiting at home certainly had its effects.’

They finished their food, laughing and discussing whatever came into their minds, Grantaire took the used dishes into the kitchen and began to wash up. Enjolras followed him, wineglass in one hand and a new bottle in the other which he set down on the counter before pushing himself up as well, sitting down in the perfect position to watch Grantaire work. He hummed a song under his breath, providing some entertainment for Grantaire who scrubbed at the plates and bowls they had emptied.

‘How many courses was that?’

‘There was a salad, the creamy soup with bread and the stuffed vegetables,’ Enjolras smacked his lips, ‘really nice, I feel full.’

‘Rightly so,’ Grantaire groaned and wiped over his forehead, ‘if it really was Courfeyrac, he outdid himself.’

Enjolras watched him as he grabbed the dish towel and began to dry off the dishes, ‘I like that shirt. Is it new?’

Grantaire turned around, casting him a look, ‘What, this old thing?’

‘It fits you really well,’ Enjolras shrugged, ‘hugs the arms.’

‘”Hugs the arms,” Enjolras, are you okay? You sound like you’ve ingested a fashion journalist,’ Grantaire chuckled at his own joke, ‘maybe it shrunk in the washing.’

Enjolras made an undecided sound, ‘Nah, I think you toned up.’

‘Oh, Enjolras, you say the sweetest things,’ Grantaire placed the serving bowl back into the cupboard and flicked the dish towel at Enjolras, ‘cheeky.’

‘I just said I liked the shirt. And that you might have lost some weight.’

‘Not thanks to your cooking.’

‘Or your baking, is that why you make me taste everything?’ Enjolras emptied his wineglass and slid off the counter to poke his finger in Grantaire’s side, ‘who’s cheeky now?’

‘Yeah, still you,’ Grantaire filled the kettle with water, ‘coffee?’

‘Wouldn’t say no,’ Enjolras grinned, ‘you know what we should do?’

‘Hm?’

‘Balcony.’

‘Good thinking,’ Grantaire groaned, ‘you genius.’

Enjolras left the kitchen, carried the wineglasses and candles out onto the small balcony and switched on the solar-powered fairy lights and lanterns they had strung up. He also fetched cushions to put on the garden chairs they had gotten during their last time to IKEA. For all the display of coolness they both put on, they had each discovered that the other liked to decorate the flat with knickknacks and little things. Their balcony had turned into a romantic little spot above the tree-lined road beneath.

‘Angel,’ Grantaire called from the kitchen, ‘you should come and see this.’

‘What?’ Enjolras dropped a blanket on the chair Grantaire usually took, despite everything he said, Grantaire tended to get chilly fast, ‘Did you find the pathway to the dimension where they finally got rid of capitalism?’

‘Nope, I found dessert.’

Those words motivated Enjolras like nothing else and had him cross the living room in a few long strides, ‘Dessert? Did you make something?’

‘No, I literally found it in the fridge,’ Grantaire lifted a platter out of the fridge, careful as to not shift it too much, and set it down on the counter, ‘look at that!’

It was a display of glistening crème brûlée in small pans, fluffy mousse au chocolat, whipped cream and strawberries, both natural and chocolate covered. Enjolras, whose stomach had been full to the brim, seemed to perk up at the sight of it.

‘This is not Courf,’ he said, seemingly in awe of the board, ‘it’s more like Jehan to do all this.’

Grantaire held spoons out for him and ushered him back toward the living room, ‘After tonight, my shirt is not going to hug my arms nicely, it’s going to rip and send buttons flying everywhere.’

Enjolras clicked his tongue at him but carried the dishes out onto the balcony. Grantaire followed with the board, making sure not to drop anything. Once he set it down on the rather spindly table they kept on the balcony it was hardly visible anymore, disappearing underneath the full platter. They filled up their wineglasses again and took in the sight in front of them for a moment.

‘What are you going to start with?’ Enjolras reached for one of the small pans of crème brûlée, ‘Oh this is going to be good.’

Grantaire picked up a mousse first, added some cream and strawberries and lifted it up as if in a toast. Armed with a spoon they took the first mouthful.

‘Okay, this is really good,’ Grantaire leaned back into the chair, ‘honestly, Enjolras, you have to try it!’

‘And you this,’ he held another spoonful out for him.

Grantaire mirrored him until they both sat opposite each other with a spoon held out to the other. It worked well enough, Grantaire pulled back with crème brûlée in his mouth whilst Enjolras wiped some cream off his lips.

‘Amazing,’ Grantaire sighed.

‘Yes but your meringue is better,’ Enjolras sighed, ‘I could probably eat all this tonight.

‘No, don’t,’ Grantaire winced with a grin, ‘you’ll end up in a food coma.’

Enjolras made a low sound of agreement and returned his attention to the dessert. The portions were small enough to clear them away in no time. Grantaire pulled the blanket over his legs, giving Enjolras a thankful smile.

‘You know me so well,’ he sighed happily and grabbed the wineglass Enjolras had held on to whilst he got comfortable.

‘Well, so do you,’ Enjolras winked, ‘we make quite the team.’

‘Who would have thought,’ Grantaire smiled, ‘I think most of our friends thought we wouldn’t manage to live together for long.’

Enjolras did not respond at first, eyes raking over him with a soft smile and a thoughtful expression. He held out his hand and Grantaire took it, leaning into his chair and looking up towards the sky where the stars twinkled down at them.

‘Actually,’ he took another sip of wine, calculating how much he had drunk and how many theoretically boundary-overstepping remarks he could make, ‘we’re as good as together.’

‘As good as,’ Grantaire echoed, ‘we care about each other, we make this a home for us. That’s what friends do, right?’

Enjolras looked at him, saw the open, vulnerable gaze directed at him, ‘We’re friends. Doesn’t mean we could take it a step further. Why aren’t we together? We already share a flat, we don’t maul each other every second day anymore, and at this point, it’s really out there that we could work.’

‘Too much baggage,’ Grantaire shrugged, ‘my assessment. Doesn’t mean you’re not the light of my life.’

Enjolras’ grasp around his hand tightened. In the dark night around them, the fairy lights were the sole source of light, reflected in his eyes like the stars shining above them. He swallowed, throat working around the words he wanted to display for inspection. It took him a moment, lost in the sight of Grantaire’s profile against the backdrop of their balcony, wrapped up in his blanket.

‘I could handle it,’ his voice betrayed him, breaking off mid-sentence, ‘I can handle it.’

Grantaire snorted into his glass, shaking his head softly, ‘Angel, you couldn’t handle me, if I came with instructions.’

‘You cannot be worse than the bookshelf,’ Enjolras insisted.

‘The one you didn’t finish and begged me to build before you could take an axe to it?’

Enjolras had an answer on the tip of his tongue but it slipped from his mind again before he could speak it. Frustrated, he threw his arms up and flailed around a little, huffing out his breath before knocking back what had been left over in his glass.

Grantaire watched him, his eyes alight with similar stars. He was mesmerised with the display in front of him. Enjolras had let go of his hand but Grantaire still giggled, taken with the way he seemed to be expressing something, even if not through words.

‘What are you trying to say, Enjolras?’ His question was supposed to help him along on his path but Enjolras just stared at him, ‘No words left for me?’

He accompanied his words with a soft shake of his head. Enjolras scooted closer around the table, on hand pawing at the blanket first and his face afterwards. His fingers wove in his hair and pushed it back carefully, slipping his palm against his cheek. Grantaire’s skin warmed under his hand as a thumb stroked over his cheekbone.

‘Sorry. Your hair was in your face. Thought I should move it so I could see you better.’

For a moment, Grantaire stared at him, unsure what had happened. Then, laughter bubbled out of him and seeped them in it.

‘Oh God, Enjolras, you are so drunk!’

‘Nope, I’m fine,’ Enjolras objected, his eyes glazing over.

Grantaire giggled, hand coming to find his on his cheek, ‘Prove it!’

‘ _Les Représentants du Peuple Français, constitués en Assemblée Nationale, considérant que l'ignorance, l'oubli ou le mépris des droits de l'Homme sont les seules causes des malheurs publics et de la corruption des Gouvernements, ont résolu d'exposer, dans une Déclaration solennelle, les droits naturels, inaliénables et sacrés de l'Homme, afin que cette Déclaration, constamment présente à tous les Membres du corps social, leur rappelle sans cesse leurs droits et leurs devoirs_ –‘

Grantaire shook his hair, ‘Impressive, Enjolras, if I didn’t know that’s your special party trick. Reciting the _Declaration des droits de l’homme_ – I know you.’

‘You do,’ Enjolras nodded solemnly, ‘you do, and so much better than most others.’

‘You’re being weird, Enjolras,’ Grantaire folded the blanket back and leaned forward a little, ‘how much wine did you have?’

‘I’m not drunk, Grantaire, I told you. I’m tipsy, if anything, just about tipsy enough to have courage.’

‘Courage? What –‘

Grantaire did not get to finish his sentence as Enjolras pushed out of his chair and leaned into his space, hands coming up to cup his face and hold him before his lips slid over his. The breath was knocked out of him with a soft sound, a moan caught and trapped between them. Grantaire felt the warmth of Enjolras’ lips glide along his, gentle yet confident, used to demanding what it wanted.

‘Enjolras,’ he mumbled against the lips pressing so firmly against his, ‘Enjolras, angel –‘

‘Say that again,’ a whisper in his ear requested, ‘please, Grantaire.’

‘Angel,’ Grantaire whined, pursuing the lips withdrawing from his mouth, ‘angel, please, have mercy.’

Enjolras made a sound akin of a moan, hot breath hitting wet lips as he pulled back, resting his forehead against Grantaire’s. He managed to open his eyes after a moment of gathering himself, finding Grantaire’s and following the lines of his face with his thumbs.

‘We took a step into the unknown –‘

‘And know now that we caught the other in our arms,’ Grantaire breathed, ‘Enjolras –‘

‘No, I’ll not hear it,’ Enjolras’ fingers combed through his hair, lips coming to touch his again, ‘no words, no sound.’

Grantaire brought his hands to hold onto Enjolras, wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him in, kissing him with newly kindled trust. He tasted of a hint of wine on his lips, chocolate and sugar mingling on his breath, sweet enough to make the blood inside of his veins rush and surge against his senses, overpowering them in an instance. Grantaire felt drunk on what had been a mere dream to not be acted upon, with Enjolras tearing down the walls of dreams around them.

‘In all fairness,’ he panted against Enjolras’ cheek, ‘you are by far the best roommate I have ever had.’

‘Well then,’ Enjolras replied, breath coming out in short huffs and with his eyes struggling to focus on what was before him, caressing his face with soft touches and sweet kisses, ‘why don’t you take me to our room.’

‘Our –‘ Grantaire was breathless with excitement, feeling his knees buckle for a moment, ‘you’re killing me.’

Enjolras clung to him, tightening his grip around his shoulders. A whine spilled from his lips and filled Grantaire’s ears like sweet music before lips found his throat and pressed kisses against it. Grantaire let his arms wander down from his waist and tightened them, lifting Enjolras off his lap and stood, carrying him on his hip. He stepped back into the flat with Enjolras’ lips still attached to the skin between jaw and throat, hot breath cool against his bruised and bitten skin. His hands wandered down from their place, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt, opening up more skin for him to attack with lips, teeth and tongue, sloppy with the effect the wine had on him.

Grantaire, hardly able to concentrate on carrying him without running into furniture or dropping him, moaned softly and gasped for air when Enjolras found a sensitive spot across his collar bone. The bedroom door was mere steps away and he could feel Enjolras quiver in his arms already, impatience winding him up in his arms.

***

‘What are they doing, are they still on the balcony?’ Courfeyrac tried to spy through the gap between door and frame, unable to see more then the light falling into his eyes.

‘Still on the balcony,’ Jehan confirmed from where they were crouched in front of the keyhole, ‘looks like Enjolras – oh my god, Courf, he just took Grantaire’s hand!’

‘He did what? Let me see,’ Courfeyrac pushed to get a closer look through the keyhole, ‘bloody hell, you’re right! He looks ready to get down on his knees.’

‘How romantic,’ Jehan hissed, ‘what’s happening now?’

Courfeyrac watched, jaw dropping, ‘We have contact. Enjolras is wiping Grantaire’s hair out of his face, this is so fucking sweet, I swear, if nothing happens right now –‘

Jehan spread out on the ground, tilting their head to the side to look through the crack, ‘What’s that he’s saying?’

‘Oh no, Enjolras,’ Courfeyrac groaned, ‘he’s doing his party trick to prove he’s not drunk. Grantaire won’t like hearing –‘

‘Actually,’ Jehan said softly, ‘looks like it had the desired effect, Grantaire looks ready to pounce.’

‘As in tear him apart for talking about socio-political issues?’

‘Nope,’ Jehan began before sucking in a sharp breath, ‘Courf – Courf – look! They are kissing!’

‘What?’

‘They’re kissing, we did it, look, that’s Enjolras climbing Grantaire.’

‘Don’t say that, that’s my best friend,’ Courfeyrac pretended to retch.

‘Well, you came up with the plot to set them up,’ Jehan retorted, ‘wow, they’re really in there, Grantaire’s going to have so many hickeys to cover up tomorrow.’

‘What are they doing now, I can’t see them from this angle,’ Courfeyrac shifted, breathless and giddy.

Jehan remained quiet for a moment before reporting back, ‘They’re really into it now. There must have been so much pent up love and need and – oh shit!’

‘What, what is it?’

‘Courf, they’re coming here, Grantaire’s got Enjolras on his hip, they’re coming inside!’

‘Why, I thought they were kissing?’

‘They are,’ Jehan hissed, ‘they’re kissing but in a kind of dirty, passionate way now. They’re coming inside!’

‘If Grantaire’s carrying Enjolras, they might head to his room,’ Courfeyrac tried to comfort his nerves.

‘No, Grantaire’s room is a mess, fuck, they’re really going to come in,’ Jehan jumped to their feet, ‘quick, we can hide in the closet!’

Courfeyrac blurted out a muffled shout, ‘I will not hide in a closet, I –‘

The door opened, bathing them in warm light. Jehan and Courfeyrac, facing each other, in the middle of their argument, whipped around. In the door stood, still entangled and surprise on their dazed faces, Grantaire and Enjolras, both out of breath and with heated eyes.

‘What?’ Enjolras’ voice was raspy and coated with something Courfeyrac did not want to think about.

‘Uhm, surprise,’ he offered instead, grabbing Jehan’s arm, ‘have a nice evening, we need to claim our winnings now, don’t mind us.’

With that, he slipped past Grantaire, tugging Jehan along. They followed him, their face schooled into neutrality, as if their presence in Enjolras’ bedroom had been the most natural occurrence.

‘Good night,’ they called from the door, ‘you can thank us tomorrow!’

Then, they darted down the stairs and after Courfeyrac. They would drink a toast to their success and then, they would need to wash away any memory of what they had witnessed.


End file.
